


it's the mallrat in me

by leopardfringe



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (hey everyone lets go through the five stages of mall grief with sokka as he tries to find love!), 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Fiercely-Loyal-to-Silly-Things Sokka, Flirty Sokka (Avatar), Long-Suffering Zuko, M/M, Miscommunication, Sokka works in a clothing store, Tea Server Zuko (Avatar), Zukka Week 2021, featuring: tlok kids as sales associates and zhao as sokka's general manager lol, idiots to lovers, tea shop server vs clothing sales associate fight fight fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardfringe/pseuds/leopardfringe
Summary: The Jasmine Dragon comes into the mall, and apparently all it takes for Sokka to forget everything he's ever learned from the imaginary sales associate ethics rulebook are a pair of pretty gold eyes and plush lips turned up in a scowl.(At least the cute but grumpy tea shop server has absolutelynoqualms in giving Sokka the same energy right back.)--“Sometimes,” Sokka declares into his headset. “I feel like I’m going through the five stages of grief every time I walk into this place. Or like I’m capable of murder. I haven’t decided yet."“With those scrawny little arms? You better start asking for some heartfelt condolences cards from everyone instead, Sokka."
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> truly, this retail au is just a love letter to working in a mall lmao  
> (from someone who worked at [redacted clothing store] both as a high schooler and when in grad school lol)
> 
> many ✨vibes✨ contributed to the shaping of this fic, including:  
> \- [this impeccable tiktok](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe/status/1371821110996692995)  
> \- the way zukka are dressed in this adorable [shopping cart fanart by ash](https://ash-and-starlight.tumblr.com/post/644930620273967104/bro-bro-what-if-we-kissed-inside-of-a#notes)!!  
> \- admittedly, my own [zukka retail au playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4RgGBEOBbYJ4X5o58uZmWw?si=cxza7C04Tv-y8NO9SeBZjw) (which has ofc been perfectly curated to last exactly the length of a part-time employee's shift lol)
> 
> mall life is ball life, and i hope you enjoy!!  
> -  
> written for zukka week 2021- tea/coffee shops and (i'm cheating) 5+1!  
>  _happy zukka week everyone!!_

It takes approximately seven months of him working there, but eventually, begrudgingly, Sokka can no longer deny it:

Mall life is kinda…fun. 

He gets why there was once a period in time where mall films were the peak of cinema, and it makes total sense to him that people still continue to enjoy wandering aimlessly around these places for hours.

But working in a mall and _enjoying_ it? Now that’s the ultimate guilty pleasure.

The store he works at sits perfectly at the midpoint on the second floor, and with no nearby escalators to easily get to them, the foot traffic and threat of shoplifting isn’t nearly as bad as it is for the poor employees below. Their hours are surprisingly great for his insane grad school schedule since shipment shifts start so early, and the clothes they sell are blessedly casual enough that Sokka can get away with wearing practically anything he wants, short of his more vulgar band tees.

(His knee-high pizza socks have become the store’s unofficial mascot at this point, making everyone smile even when forced to hide underneath a pair of work-appropriate jeans before they open for the day.)

Also, his work wife is a 60-year-old woman who can carry two of the heaviest shipment tables at once while calling him ‘moppet,’ and Isda isn’t afraid to threaten any of their teenaged coworkers with a box cutter if they ever try to call her the resident grandma. Between having her and all the unruly high schoolers around, the idea of spending hours on his feet to earn money feels a little less soul-crushing.

Even if they do like to try their damned hardest to send his sanity on a sharp downward spiral every single shift.

“It’s eight o’clock,” Sokka grumbles into the headset. “In the _morning_. Can’t you just say ‘mic check’ like a normal person?”

Korra’s scoff is loud enough that he hears it both in his earpiece and from across the salesfloor, where she’s sitting among a pile of jeans to straighten up what last night’s closers conveniently missed. “I’m sorry you’re old and hate fun Sokka, but it’s an important question.”

“Ask another one,” he fires back. “I do not want to know what you babies get up to. _Ever_.”

“What’s the worst place to be if a zombie apocalypse ever happened?” Wu throws out over the walkie, and _it is_ _too early for this_.

Sokka answers immediately anyway. “Here.”

“No it wouldn’t.” Korra actually sounds offended by his answer, and it shocks a laugh out of him. “We could all use you as our shield and then hide out in the manager’s office. That sounds like a win to me.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t throw everyone—except Isda—to the horde and save my own damn self.” He pauses long enough to let the wave of indignant complaints crash over the airwaves before continuing. “But if I _were_ to somehow die, I hope you gremlins would have enough compassion for your favorite manager that you would drag my ruined body out of the store, so I can at least go out knowing I wasn’t surrounded by artfully distressed skinny jeans.”

“Nah, you’re getting propped up in the window as a mannequin after we steal your store key,” Huan says, unrepentant, and Sokka figures that’s probably more than enough to ask from his horrible teenagers.

“Be a terrifying apocalyptic easter egg for any future explorers to stumble upon?” he hums, approving. “Sure, I’ll take it.”

“Also, Bolin may have locked himself in one of the dressing rooms again.”

Sokka halts in dropping a cash drawer into one of the registers, and just simply says into his headset: “Bolin.”

“In my defense,” Bolin swiftly responds, “I’m being a victim of workplace harassment right now.”

“He’s lying!” That comes from Opal, not even over the walkie, and Sokka is a little afraid to find out what exactly happened for them to have broken the lock on the door this time.

He groans, nice and long, and pinches the bridge of his nose as he holds down the microphone button. “Bolin, why do you like making yourself suff—actually, you know what, I’m not coming over there. Crawl out or perish.” He hears the ominous sound of a door creaking along with heavy grunting, and quickly adds, “ _underneath_ the door, not over!”

“Harassment,” Bolin tuts, but he obligingly puts his feet back on the floor and crouches down to inspect the amount of open space below the fitting room door.

“Sometimes,” Sokka declares into his headset, and makes sure to stand at his full height behind the registers so his associates can have a clear view of him refusing to move as he watches Bolin try to wiggle out feet first. “I feel like I’m going through the five stages of grief every time I walk into this place. Or like I’m capable of murder. I haven’t decided yet.”

Isda is the one who wins out in the rush to be the first one to respond on the walkie, and her throaty laugh is wonderfully mocking.

“With those scrawny little arms? You better start asking for some heartfelt condolences cards from everyone instead, moppet.”

And well. Fair enough.

— — —

**_Stage One: Denial_ **

Standing tall at three floors and boasting an insane maze of escalators, the mall Sokka works at is the biggest one in the area—which also effectively makes it the cultural touchpoint of the town, due to its ability to satisfy the varied needs of any age bracket. There’s no rules to the place (especially after the short-lived failure of trying to implement an ‘accompanied minor’ order that one time), the volume within can easily rival an echoing cavern, and if the place were to ever get demolished Sokka’s pretty sure the entire town would go down with it.

The place is an absolute _gem_.

It’s also, unfortunately, designed like it’s still stuck in the 90s.

Well, the side he works on is embarrassingly dated, at least.

Stuck on just the wrong side of the divide, Sokka’s choice to work in a mid-range clothing store basically sealed his fate to forever need to brace himself before stepping inside. From the harsh fluorescent lighting that makes him squint to the sagging, questionable hallway decor that he’s forced to navigate around, Sokka’s heart is always pumping extra hard by the time he reaches his store, which he can only imagine is also from experiencing the effects of residual decades-old adrenaline that still haunts this half of the mall.

It’s like walking straight into how a Baja Blast tastes—it’s _amazing_.

Here, there’s no need for any braggadocio. On this forgotten, unglamorous side, the place feels just a little homier with all its chipped paint and how everything is slightly tinted yellow, and the stores know what they’re about. When people are just popping in to grab some school clothes or a cheap gift, there’s no need to pretend like they’re trying to sell a _luxury experience_ here.

The same can’t be said for the other side of the mall.

In an attempt to portray the right amount of enticing extravagance, that half prides itself on its real tile flooring, dedicated rest stations for shoppers, and overwhelming sense of aesthetic lifelessness. None of it is appealing to Sokka; the music pumping from brand new speakers over there is too crisp, the lights too bright, and the storefronts too cookie-cutter for his taste.

(Working on commission would probably be nice, sure, but he is still _very_ content with the side he ended up on.)

And right on the line of demarcation—the separation between old and new, dazzling bold lines and gray minimalism, minimum wage and stupid rich—is a trendy little tea shop called the Jasmine Dragon.

Small, unassuming, and in an incredibly awkward spot in the mall, no one had expected the place to last when it opened. There was already a hugely popular coffee shop right around the corner, and the idea of formally sitting down for some tea between shopping didn’t seem all that appealing to a lot of customers.

But now, less than a year later, the deep burgundy color of the to-go cups has seared itself into Sokka’s brain, to the point that he assumes any bit of red peeking out on his salesfloor is a discarded cup instead of actual clothing.

“Wow.” Aang says as he stares out at the crowd surrounding the shop, and he sounds fully impressed. “You weren’t kidding about the line.”

“Right? Sokka groans, and then shuffles back when the grandma in front of them shoots him a look. “See, this is why the buddy system is so important to me. I could _never_ deal with this alone.”

Aang smiles and leans over to try to get a better look at the tea shop’s entrance. “Yeah, I definitely see why you asked me out of everyone else to tag along.”

“I’ve learned to go with the only refreshingly patient one of the friend group for outings like this, yes,” Sokka simpers, and is rewarded with a snort.

“Patient. Yup, sure, I’m your guy.”

“Patient _enough_ ,” Sokka stresses as he pulls out his phone, and then lets loose an even louder groan. “It’s three o’clock! You’d think it’d be slow since it’s already after twelve! How is there always a line for here some _tea?_ ”

“It’s _always_ like this?” Aang asks in surprise, and lets out a low whistle as he spins around to take in the actual length of the line. “Wow, their drinks must be really good!”

“They even close at five,” Sokka gripes, as he repockets his phone. It’s a good thing he has tomorrow off too. “This is a _mall._ Who the hell closes at five on a weekday?”

“ _Really_ good tea then,” Aang concludes, and gives a winningly bright smile into the face of all of Sokka’s sour grumpiness.

The truth is that Sokka isn’t a big tea drinker. But the Jasmine Dragon’s entrance faces his side of the mall, which is unfortunately enough to make his ridiculous sense of loyalty kick in. So instead of playing twenty questions with a customer about his drink preferences, Sokka has taken to lying through his teeth about how great their tea is whenever asked.

However, all the habitual lying eventually started to eat away at his heart, and Sokka figured he should probably try the place out at least once to see what all the hype was about.

Also, the opportunity to watch all these people who would normally never dare venture to this side of the mall try to ignore all the garish decor as they wait _is_ pretty worth it.

“If it’s not good enough to have me reciting love sonnets after the first sip, I’m burning the place down,” Sokka mumbles, and gamely takes the grandma’s heated glare in stride as he buckles in for another _thirty minutes_ for them to reach the front.

As soon as he’s able to get a peek inside though, Sokka immediately starts grumbling about his wasted day. With the insane amount of waiting needed just to get in, he was expecting for the shop to have a bit more…pizzazz.

Aang, naturally, feels differently. “Okay, I’m loving the vibe here.”

“ _Vibe?_ ” Sokka asks incredulously, and takes a second look at the shop’s interior. 

It’s not ugly _._ The shop is dressed up nicely in soft greens and plenty of warm-toned wood paneling with partitions between each table, either by a low wall or a series of lush hanging plants, and the lighting is soft and tinted to create a perfectly calming atmosphere. It’s a suitable aesthetic for a tea shop—fine, even.

Just not all that remarkable to Sokka.

“Yeah, vibe,” Aang returns, and his cocked brow tells Sokka that he’s the one being judged right now. “What, you think this place doesn’t look cozy?”

Sure, he can see why customers would want to stop here and rest while they shop. But all the quiet peacefulness feels like it’d put Sokka right to sleep, and he’s now questioning the credibility of his coworkers’ assurances that they feel revitalized after spending their breaks here.

He wrinkles his nose. “I mean—”

Before he can answer, a girl stalks up to the hostess booth in front of them and slaps some menus back into a nearby basket with a heavy huff. She doesn’t attempt to hide her annoyance, and Sokka instantly feels sympathetic for the kind of day she must be having.

With a line like that outside, there’s no hope for a quiet shift.

“Do you want to order, or do you want to sit?” she asks bluntly, looking straight at the ceiling as her thumb taps impatiently against the stand.

“Uh—” Sokka understands her irritation, but he admittedly wasn’t prepared to have it directed his way, and he scrambles to answer without further making her day any more insufferable. “Well, sit? I guess? You cool with that, Aang?”

“Oh, that’s—”

“You _guess?_ ” the girl cuts in, now sounding fully aggravated. She had turned her head toward them when they started talking, and Sokka sees first her messy long bangs before he notices her milky gray eyes. “Listen, do you want food? Or are you trying to get a drink and then leave right away? Make it easy for me here.”

Sokka didn’t even know this place had food. “The two of us will sit down. I work in the mall, I don’t need to walk around.”

“Fun,” she says, her voice just as flat as her face, and he suddenly feels a little embarrassed for some reason. “You’re going to the counter.”

Grabbing two menus, she snags the cane tucked behind her and takes off inside the shop, leaving Sokka and Aang to hastily trail behind as she weaves them between the tables and through a smaller to-go order line. The place is bigger than Sokka realized; from the outside, he wouldn’t think that so many tables and chairs could fit inside. But the strategic layout saves it from feeling cramped and lends to the space a true sense of privacy, making the place feel almost comfortably intimate despite the shop being at near full capacity.

Also, now that they’re further inside, Sokka can see the giant intricately woven dragon rug on the floor that seems to have been made specifically for the tea shop, since the dragon’s twisting green body and tail is easily visible around all of the tables and chairs. _And_ there’s a mural along the back wall that depicts a landscape view of two beautifully detailed dragons—one red and one blue, dancing with each other in an endless loop.

_Alright,_ Sokka thinks, _that kinda rules._

“Sit here.”

The counter they’re seated at is bar-style with an open view into the separated brewing station, where an older man is currently bustling around a few steaming pots of tea, and his easy humming can be heard even over the quiet din of the shop. Sokka admires for a second how even the kitchen is nice to look at before he turns to thank the girl, but he’s interrupted by two menus being tossed onto the table between him and Aang.

“Enjoy,” she grunts, and then she’s off. When she gets to the end of the counter, she reaches out to slap the service bell there before marching on, and the sharp ding makes the man look up. As soon as he spots the two of them, he breaks out into a grin so warm that it outshines the pleasing, comforting aroma of brewed tea wafting throughout the shop.

Sokka doesn’t think, in all his years of retail, that he’s ever felt so _welcomed_ in a place before.

But the man’s kindness ends up not even being the best part.

The ultimate selling point of the Jasmine Dragon for him is the server who later pops up to drop off their teapot and sandwiches.

Sokka doesn’t even care about the poorly concealed snarl on the guy’s face, as he’s too preoccupied by the incredible _hotness_ of everything else about him. From the artfully tousled hair and thick forearms on display under his rolled sleeves, to his sharp jawline and strong eyebrow furrowed perfectly to guide Sokka right into the irresistible gold of his eye—Sokka’s _transfixed_.

His gaze admittedly trips on the large burn scar over the left side of the guy’s face, and the server must be used to it because he doesn’t stick around for long.

“Enjoy,” he snaps out, his tone rivaling the hostess’s own irritability, and—

Oh.

There’s a deep rasp to the guy’s voice, nearly reminiscent of smoke and heated rock, and Sokka’s eyes involuntarily widen a little.

Well then. He’s _definitely_ interested in being welcomed to the Jasmine Dragon far more often. Maybe even for the rest of his life.

“Okay,” he says, quietly awed as he watches the broody hot guy walk behind the separator and back into the kitchen. “This place is good.”

“Ready to start reciting poetry?” Aang slyly asks, even going as far as to nudge his full cup against Sokka’s still empty one, and promptly ruins the entire relaxed atmosphere of the tea shop by squealing in laughter when Sokka tries to pinch him.

—

Sokka comes back, and he comes back _constantly_.

Thirty minutes ends up being nothing to him. The tea and food are, in fact, worth giving up half of his hour-long lunch break to wait in line, which is something that doesn’t go unnoticed.

After the third month of near religiously showing up, Toph just lets him walk right in now, as long as she gets to punch his shoulder every time she passes his designated corner spot at the counter. After an hour of pummeling, Sokka always ends up back at work with a horribly sore arm, but he’s also learned that he’s the only customer Toph will willingly smile at during her entire shift, so he figures what’s a little pain, on the path to triumph?

(Toph punches him hard after he gloats about this, and then again even _harder_ when Sokka retaliates by ringing the service bell before she can get to it.)

Iroh’s grin also grows every time he sees Sokka at the counter, which ends up being an incredible balm that Sokka didn’t even realize he needed on his more terrible workdays. Eventually, Sokka stops receiving new shop rewards cards, because Iroh has taken to passing along free samples with his usual order.

Yeah, the Jasmine Dragon is _awesome_.

The best visits though are when Iroh’s nephew—who Sokka quickly realizes is the Zuko from his stories—is forced to slink out from the kitchen for longer than two minutes to help out on the floor. He doesn’t ever work the counter, beyond occasionally bringing out dishes, so Sokka never gets the chance to indulge in a conversation with him, but that doesn’t stop him from taking his fill of looking whenever he can anyway.

Zuko is just—so _nice_ to look at.

The tea shop has a uniform, but while Toph has gone for bright chartreuse clothing and Iroh wears a rich emerald, Zuko seems to favor only the darkest shades of green. It’s an obvious attempt to blend in with the shop’s surroundings, though Sokka doesn’t know why he bothers to try.

Aside from his (devastatingly) good looks, Zuko sticks out. There’s an electrifying glint in his eye every time he sets a teapot down on a table, as if he’s just begging for someone to ask about proper pouring techniques, and he’s not afraid to roll his eyes or gentle his tone for customers; quite often, he has to purse his lips so he doesn’t go off on someone when Iroh is around. Even in a place dedicated to inspiring tranquility, he always looks like he’s ready to face down any challenge that comes his way, and that alone is enough to make Sokka’s head turn.

His waspishness should probably be off-putting, but Sokka has watched long enough to also get a glimpse of Zuko’s sincerity—they’re only quick snatches underneath all his prickly irritability, but Sokka now knows how heart-meltingly warm Zuko can look when he shares a fond smile with his uncle, and how cutely his cheeks puff when he grins at something Toph says to him.

Those scant moments are truly the stuff of sweet daydreams.

Sokka’s well aware all of his admiration has boiled down into an embarrassingly useless mall crush, but he still can’t help but wistfully stare and get lost in thought about how nice it’d look if _he_ got Zuko to blush.

(Also, the first time he spies the way Zuko bites his bottom lip in response to whatever Toph murmured to him—well, Sokka also wouldn’t mind doing a lot _more_ than just finding out how to make him turn bashfully red.)

And really, it’s the fact that Zuko has _very_ kissable lips that Sokka will forever assert was the reason for his momentary lapse in integrity.

—

His shift for the day is one of those weird mid-afternoon ones that puts his break in the middle of the tea shop’s slow period, so there’s only a few half-filled tables when he walks in to take his seat at the counter. He doesn’t expect to see Toph since he knows that she takes her own break around this time, but he did expect to see Iroh, and is caught off-guard when he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the shop.

Instead, it’s only Zuko on the floor, flitting around to take orders and bring out food to people, which tells Sokka that he must be manning the shop by himself right now— _and_ also means that he’s the one who ends up serving Sokka this time.

He doesn’t make eye contact as he steps up to the counter, too busy looking in his apron for an errant pen, but Sokka’s skin still buzzes in excitement regardless.

“Welcome—”

Sokka doesn’t wait for him to get out a polite greeting. No, his brain promptly forgets all customer service conventions to instead pounce on this wonderful chance of _finally_ being alone with Zuko.

“Oh, _hey_ there,” he purrs with a sweet smile as he leans on the counter. Zuko’s hand stills in his apron. “So you’re the one taking care of me today?”

Zuko glances up, and then does an aborted double take before jerking his head back down to his notepad.

“Yes,” he snaps out, flipping to a new page, and then, “what do you want.”

There’s a minuscule attempt to affect a more affable tone at the end of his sentence, a last-ditch attempt at proper customer service, but the effort is pointless since he refuses to look at Sokka. Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the rest of the shop, as if to check on the rest of his few customers, but the way he’s turned his head makes it so his scar is the only thing Sokka can really see. As he takes in the reddened and uneven skin— _and_ the hard cut of that jawline—Sokka has a feeling this is being done on purpose.

Which, nice try, but Sokka is already well beyond the stage of only noticing the scar by now.

He ignores the defensive move, and switches tactics. “You’re Zuko, right? It’s good to see you out here instead of hiding back in the kitchen. Your uncle talks about you all the time.”

Zuko startles in response, and Sokka likes the way his brow furrows as he tries to decide whether he should be annoyed at his uncle for talking about him, or at Sokka for trying to talk to him.

“Yeah,” he eventually mutters, then exhales a long, measured breath for before continuing. “Uncle likes to do that. Do you know what you want?”

Sokka knows he must have it bad, if he’s even finding Zuko’s determined refusal to look at him cute. Chuckling lightly, he spins the menu in circles on the countertop and hums loudly as he feigns contemplation, never once taking his eyes off Zuko. He’s known what he wanted since the second he clocked out for his break—he has a regular order, which Iroh knows by heart. Zuko, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have any idea what he gets.

It makes him smirk. “I don’t know, there’s a lot of things on the menu. What do you suggest?”

“You already know what we have, you come here often enough,” Zuko scowls. “Just pick something so I can put the order in.”

“Oh!” Sokka sits up straighter in his seat at that, excited. “So you recognize me? That’s very sweet.”

Zuko’s jaw clenches as he turns to finally look at him, and Sokka’s smile turns a bit more devious.

“You come here more than I work here,” he snaps. One of his hands comes down on the menu, preventing Sokka from further spinning it around, and Sokka quirks an amused eyebrow.

“You’re very casual with your customers.”

“You talk to Toph,” Zuko immediately fires back. “You’re not allowed to have an opinion about that.”

A pleased laugh spills from Sokka’s mouth in response, and, fully aware of Zuko’s glare on him, he lines himself up for his next attack.

“So you’ve noticed that? Well then, Zuko, I’ve gotta say,” he starts, his tone pitched low and smoothed like honey. Zuko still hasn’t moved his hand, which gives Sokka the perfect opportunity to brush the pad of his thumb along his pinky as he looks up from under his eyelashes. “That really makes a guy feel special, if you know what I mean. I like being paid attention to like that.”

Zuko looks like a deer caught in headlights.

Sokka can start to see the tiniest tint of red staining his unscarred cheek— _so close!_ —and he makes sure to grin so his eyes crinkle in _just_ the right way as he flicks his approving gaze up and down, before meeting Zuko’s wide eyes again. “You really can’t beat all the great perks this place has to offer, you know? Especially when there are so many _nice_ things to look at while I’m here.”

The length of silence that follows is _deafening_.

Zuko looks like he’s trying to parse through all the words Sokka just said to him, his jaw slackening a little in surprise, and Sokka thrills at the teasing sight of his tongue peeking out to absently lick at his lips. With an indulgent smile, he leans forward and risks it to tap his thumb on the back of Zuko’s hand—

Who then rears back with a hard eye roll, and shoves Sokka’s hand away so he can plunge his own back into the safety of his apron pocket. The bitter glare he shoots at Sokka is absolutely savage in its ferocity, and—in that moment, Sokka recognizes _exactly_ what that particular shade of red rushing over Zuko’s face means.

His brain kicks back on right as his heart drowns in rising horror, and he jerks back in his seat.

Oh. _Fuck_ , did he seriously just become one of _those_ customers?

“Alright,” Zuko seethes. He sounds like he could be capable of breathing fire right now. “Are you done making fun of the guy with the burn on his face? Or do you want to get another joke out, so that I can knock you on your ass right out the door?”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

And that—Sokka might faint. He’s not sure what’s worse, being the creep customer who hits on someone while they’re stuck at work, or Zuko thinking that his flirting was an attempt to _make fun_ of him.

Actually, the thought of being potentially perceived either way does leave him feeling a little lightheaded, and he slumps forward slightly. But when Zuko steps back from the counter, he quickly rights himself and frantically throws his palms up. “ _No!_ I—holy shit, Zuko, no that’s literally not even _close_ —”

“I don’t care, Sokka. You’re getting banned—”

Oh.

Oh, _no_. Sokka didn’t even realize that Zuko actually knew his _name_ this whole time.

“No, I swear it was just flirting! Because you’re hot! No malicious intent from me, I swear!”

If Sokka thought Zuko looked livid before, then he looks downright _murderous_ right now.

“ _You_ —”

“Nephew, I’m back!”

Iroh’s voice is so jovial it almost stings, and the happy smile on his face as he emerges from behind the separator makes Sokka’s stomach plummet. “I trust you’ve been handling the shop well while I was gone?”

In his hands he holds one of their to-go cups and branded bag, and has to set down the drink so that he can pat at Zuko’s shoulder. Sokka doesn’t miss how the gentle touch is extremely casual in the way it also manages to pull Zuko a little further behind the counter.

Zuko grimaces. “Uncle.”

Iroh gives a pleased nod, and then appears to finally notice Sokka out of the corner of his eye. “Sokka! Welcome, thank you for stopping by again.”

His smile is pleasant, but it’s nowhere near the usual bright one Sokka gets.

Never has he so desperately wished that quicksand was a real thing to appear in the suburbs before.

“Uhm—”

Iroh continues like Sokka hadn’t said anything. “I’m sure Zuko can tell you, but with all the hubbub of a busy workday it’s always great to see a familiar face among the crowd. It certainly makes a day of helping customers feel just a bit easier to weather, wouldn’t you say?”

Sokka would like to be choking on sand right now. “Uh, yes—”

“Of course, meeting new people is also what makes jobs like ours so enjoyable! Always that possibility to have a delightful conversation with someone, until it’s time to move on for the day.”

He would even settle for being run over at this point, if quicksand wasn’t going to do him a solid. “Yeah, I—”

The bag and to-go cup are then slid over to sit on the counter in front of Sokka.

Iroh’s friendly smile never falters as he says, “if I remember correctly, Sokka, you’re on break right now, since it’s Wednesday? Forgive me, but I had heard your voice when I walked in, and thought I would go ahead and prepare your usual so that you wouldn’t miss a chance to eat before you have to go back to work.”

Sokka hears the dismissal clear as day, and doesn’t need to be told twice to skedaddle.

Without looking at either Iroh _or_ Zuko, he picks up the items with shaking hands, but then nearly drops them when he realizes that he needs to get his card out to pay before he leaves.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Sokka,” Iroh laughs genially, waving away Sokka’s fluster. “Today’s can be on the house, as a nice treat.”

Sokka might actually perish on the spot.

Not only does Iroh know, but—

He refuses to believe—

No—

Sokka would _never_.

At his store, it’s not uncommon for him to come to his coworkers’ rescue when insistent customers looking for a date won’t leave them alone, regardless of how much they try to seem harmless. Hell, even _he’s_ been there, carefully pulling away many a middle-aged woman’s grip on his elbow and neatly sidestepping offers of free coffee from cute but obtuse guys who don’t know how to respect boundaries.

He prides himself on keeping the salesfloor a safe place for his associates. He _likes_ making it clear to people that the only thing they should expect when entering the store is getting some new jeans and taking advantage of their sales—and _only_ their sales.

There’s rules; an unspoken promise in customer service to never make another sales associate’s life miserable while they’re at work, and that includes hitting on them when they have no chance to escape it.

Sokka cannot _believe_ that all it took for him to forget his morals were a pair of pretty gold eyes and plush lips turned up in a scowl.

He leaps from his seat and takes a few steps towards the door, but quickly spins around to look back at them.

“Uh—thank you, Iroh,” he rushes out, giving a distressed nod to the still-smiling man, then flings his gaze over. “Zuko, I just want to—”

“Uncle, I’m going on my break.” With a quick tug, Zuko pulls off his apron and hands it off to Iroh, who just hums in amused acquiesce.

Then, before he stomps off, he looks at Sokka, and snarls out a bone-numbingly frigid, “have a _nice_ day, Sokka.”

Sokka nods, even though he wants to scream, and books it before he’s left alone with Zuko’s uncle.

No. Absolutely not.

_He can’t believe he just did that to Zuko._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "you should write a cute lil fic for the zukka week tea shop prompt!" i said!  
> "you've already wanted to write a retail au for the longest time!" i said!  
> oh, how innocent i was to think this would be a oneshot maxing out at 5k words :)
> 
> (i hope you enjoyed! i plan to get part two out this thursday, and then likely weekly updates after that!)
> 
> -  
> if you want, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe) or [tumblr](https://chitsangenthusiast.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two's ✨vibes✨ are coming to you from:  
> [this perfect tiktok](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe/status/1372387826508173317?s=20) (which was a very real conversation i used to have with customers lol) and again from [zuko's outfit](https://ash-and-starlight.tumblr.com/post/644930620273967104/bro-bro-what-if-we-kissed-inside-of-a#notes) in this art by ash!!
> 
> "kath how many tiktoks inspired you when writing this??" haha yeah :)
> 
> -  
> today's chapter is in honor of 5+1 day of zukka week 2021!  
>  _happy zukka week everyone!!_

**_Stage Two: Anger_ **

The problem is this: Sokka can’t give up the Jasmine Dragon.

He wants for nothing more than a chance to stay away, or at the very least a grace period to give all involved parties some needed space. But, unfortunately, Sokka is a sucker for giving his favorite employees anything they need so they don’t quit. Especially for Sishi, his pregnant, waddling coworker who has developed a specific craving for one of the sweet breads sold at the tea shop, and it’s him who ends up volunteering to go down to grab it since he refuses to be the one to deny her anything at this stage in her pregnancy.

So he had been forced to creep over to the shop only two days later, and then nearly every shift after that to pick up her food.

(Along with his own usual order because, personal mortification aside, Sokka is still attached to the place.)

Toph doesn’t try to be cordial about it; she laughs at him for a straight week when he shows up, and then will only engage in small talk so she can ask about his love life for a solid two weeks after.

Iroh is far kinder. Sokka doesn’t get any free samples for the first few trips in—not that he tries to ask for any, since missing out on those tantalizing treats is a fair punishment—but it only takes about five more visits before Iroh starts sliding over that familiar tiny bag with his drink, and Sokka is surprised at how quickly he’s able to meet Iroh’s eyes without wanting to die in embarrassment.

Granted, Iroh does laugh at him for a while too, but soon enough everything starts to feel normal again between the three of them.

Zuko hates him.

He’s still forced to drop off food to him sometimes—whether this is Iroh’s doing or not, Sokka’s not sure—and every time he steps out of the kitchen, Sokka withers away from the exceedingly _polite_ customer service experience he’s given. With a perfectly rigid smile and dead eyes, Zuko might as well be the separating wall to the kitchen, particularly with how annoyingly skilled he is at blocking any of Sokka’s desperate attempts to apologize with detached civility.

It’s insufferable, even two months later, because it’s exactly Sokka’s biggest fear to be on the receiving end of such treatment—and because seeing Zuko always simmering with so much heated condescension is kind of doing it for him.

And he can’t even _do_ anything about it.

All in all, it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to Sokka in this mall.

—

He lets loose a long, weary sigh, and makes sure its loud enough to be heard in all corners of the salesfloor. “Bolin, _please_. Why must you do this to me every time? I am asking _politely_ for you to open the doors—you’re literally at the front of the store.”

“But today’s Sunday,” Bolin whines back, as if that explains everything.

It really does, much to Sokka’s annoyance.

Clunking his forehead against the top of a register, he sighs even louder into his headset and straightens up so he can lock eyes with him from across the store. “I _know_. People suck. But we have a sale, and I don’t want to see an angry email from Zhao tomorrow because he watched the cameras and saw we opened late. Just— _get_ the doors.”

“Managers suck,” he responds, and grins at him when a chorus of agreements come patching through the walkies as everyone else chimes in.

“Trust me, I know that too,” he grumbles, then glances at the time on the register screen and glares back. “We have one, singular minute. Get the doors, or I’m throwing the clipboard at—”

“Hold on,” Korra’s voice crackles in Sokka’s ear, “I thought sales associates weren’t allowed to handle the doors. This feels like you’re trying to get us busted by Zhao.”

Sokka doesn’t care that he’s in full view of the small crowd of waiting customers by the glass door; he tips his head to the ceiling and groans over the sound of his cackling high schoolers. “All of you little trolls know for a _fact_ that’s only for opening and closing the doors outside store hours. Bolin, _get the locks_. Everyone else, time to remember that you have souls and play nice.”

“You’re so mean,” Bolin grumps, but he’s already on his way over with an appropriately polite smile on his face. Within seconds of opening the doors, the tide comes in; the older mall walkers amble around to touch everything while several mothers with full bags make their way to the registers, and Sokka resigns himself to yet another Sunday shift.

Most of it runs by in a blur. None of the customers are crotchety enough to yell or steal, so it’s a fairly easy—

As soon as the thought enters his head, he mentally kicks himself for providing any evil forces with an open invitation to come in and ruin his day.

(There’s not even any wood around to knock on and save him, since everything in this place is made from laminate. _Ugh_.)

And sure enough, a force shows up.

Fittingly, in a shirt with literal demons all over it.

“Dibs,” Sokka whispers into the headset the second he spots Zuko. “ _Dibs_. All of you youths back off.”

“Gross,” Korra says over the line, watching as he instantly starts snaking his way over (to _help_ , like a _dutiful_ employee), and he freezes mid-step. He hadn’t noticed when she joined Bolin at the front of the store, but her judgmental response was loud and frighteningly too close within Zuko’s range from her position at a nearby table. When he seems to show no sign of having heard her though, Sokka sends her a warning glare and continues on to his target.

Not that Zuko’s a _target_ , per se. It’s just that Sokka has truly been losing his mind over the past couple of months at being constantly rebuffed in his attempts to apologize, and he’s hoping he can capitalize on this unexpected opportunity to do it now. By switching roles, making Zuko the customer and Sokka the one serving him, perhaps he won’t be as defensive, possibly a bit more willing to hear Sokka out.

Maybe he can even get to finally prove to him that, at his core, Sokka _isn’t_ a guy with bad intentions.

Right before he gets to the table, he tugs out a couple of pants off a rack to drape over his arm, even throwing one of their popular men’s tees over his shoulder for added effect, and adopts a carefully welcoming smile as he sidles up next to Zuko.

“Hey,” he says, taking a page out of Aang’s book and exuding the friendliest vibes he can, “fancy seeing you here.”

Zuko’s head shoots up from inspecting the jeans on the table. His face is already screwed up in irritation before he even properly looks at Sokka. “No. Go away.”

Sokka frowns, then immediately tries to smooth out his displeasure into something less potentially instigative. He’s long learned that customers don’t like being looked at as if they’re being judged, and he assumes Zuko would hate it too—even if he has no reservations with doing it in his own shop _or_ in Sokka’s store, apparently. “Sure, fine. I just came over to greet you and tell you about the sale—”

“Nope,” Zuko cuts in, already looking back at the jeans table. “I don’t need help. Go find someone else.”

And— _really?_

Before he can stop himself, Sokka snaps at him. “Stop being a dick, Zuko. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“You want to talk about _me_ being a dick?” Zuko fires back, and Sokka agonizes over seeing his window of opportunity rapidly closing.

“ _No_ no no,” he protests, palms flung up, but then pauses and tilts his head. “Okay, well yes, you, since you don’t need to be acting like this right now—”

“Uh, Sokka, should we be concerned about this asshole right now?” Huan calls over the walkie, and Sokka instinctively cups his hand over his headset to block the possibility for Zuko to hear what was said. “Or is this…just boy troubles?”

“Since when did Sokka ever have boy troubles?” Isda asks back, and he _so_ wishes that was her giving him a compliment.

“I’m helping a customer,” he firmly states into his headset, purposefully vague and falsely bright, and he shoots a lightning quick frown behind him before turning back to Zuko. He keeps his hand over his earpiece, just in case. “Zuko, can you just let me talk to you?”

Zuko glances around with a raised brow; he hasn’t missed how the rest of the associates have started to slowly congregate towards the front of the store. Sokka shouldn’t be surprised—Zuko also has the situational awareness of a retail worker—but damn is he suffering from it, since he still hasn’t divulged the details of that embarrassing afternoon to any of his coworkers, and he can only imagine the amount of grief he’s going to get for the rest of his shift after this.

“No, I’m good,” Zuko scowls back, “you’ve already done enough talking to me, Sokka.”

“Dude,” Bolin whispers into his headset, “what’d you _do_ to the guy?”

Sokka hisses. “Zuko—”

“Unlike you, I don’t appreciate being singled out like this. Go bother someone else.”

His voice is sharp and defensive; Zuko’s entire essence radiates hostility and the demand to be left alone. Normally, it’s something that Sokka would respect, and every single retail bone in his body is telling him to accept defeat, but he stays firmly planted in front of Zuko.

“Actually, I didn’t even realize it was you at first—” a little white lie that Zuko doesn’t have to know about— “since you…dress a lot differently than I expected, when you’re not in your uniform.”

He can’t help it, he does a quick sweep of his eyes down, and Zuko instantly tenses up.

“ _And?_ So, what, you felt like you needed to come over and try to hit on me at _your_ job now?”

“ _Sokka_.” Isda’s voice sounds fully disappointed, and Sokka thinks he might scream.

He flops his head back and groans into his hands. “ _Listen_ , I’ve been trying to apologize for that! I don’t know what came over me that day—I _really_ didn’t mean to do it!”

Zuko’s brow flies up, looking worryingly like several of his suspicions were just confirmed, and Sokka then realizes what he just said. He scrambles, and has to stop himself from lunging forward as he rushes out, “To you! At work! Do that to you at _work!_ If it were anywhere else—”

That expression still hasn’t left Zuko’s face, and his glare only intensifies the longer Sokka talks.

“Actually, nevermind. I just mean that I know what it’s like to get hit on at work, and I didn’t mean to put you through that. It was gross, and I know it, so I’m sorry for that.”

Something shifts in Zuko’s expression then, a minuscule thing that Sokka only notices because of how intently he’s staring at him, and he makes quick work to go back to scrutinizing the jeans table. He doesn’t say anything right away, much to Sokka’s rising frustration. Unfortunately, there’s nothing he can do except wait—though he _does_ make sure to hold down the microphone button so none of his terrible coworkers can try to throw him under the bus by loudly teasing him through the walkie.

When he still doesn’t get any response, he’s about to keep going out of nerves, but then Zuko glances over. His mouth is twisted, not in anger but in an emotion that Sokka can’t pinpoint, when he finally mumbles out, “whatever. Uncle didn’t ban you so it’s not like there’s an issue anymore.”

There’s _definitely_ still an issue here, but Sokka’s attention snags onto one specific detail. “Would you have actually banned me?”

“Yeah, I would’ve.” Zuko’s angry affirmation comes with an arrogant upturn of his nose, and Sokka feels the intensity of his crush waver slightly at such a truly annoying sight. “That job is hard enough without people like you coming in and making me want to quit on the spot.”

Sokka just rolls his eyes. Seriously, who _hasn’t_ felt that way after a terrible day on the job?

“Retail problems,” he snarks, “am I right?”

Zuko scoffs. “Working in an award-winning tea shop is completely different than helping people try on some jeans.”

“Oh,” Opal breathes out, and Sokka knows for a fact he’s not strong enough to hold back four enraged high schoolers _and_ Isda.

But yeah. _Oh,_ indeed.

He’s stunned into silence.

Then his nerves ignite in aggrieved disbelief, and he can feel his mouth curl into a vicious snarl.

Well, if _that’s_ how it’s going to be.

“Just leave me alone to shop in peace already,” Zuko continues, sealing his fate. 

See, the thing is that Sokka may primarily work the shipment shifts since he’s quick and inventive at creating eye-catching displays with their clothes—but he’s also a _beast_ at upselling customers. With his easy demeanor and casual advice, he knows how to be perfectly approachable, as if he’s just a friend tagging along on a shopping trip who wants to help. He can get anyone to let down their guard—and open their wallets—to be happily led around and then right to the registers.

His favorite marks are the rich ones who look like they’ve accidentally wandered in and look lost as to how they ended up at his store. They don’t come in expecting to buy anything, but after Sokka’s through with them, they always manage to walk out with a sizable stack of clothes they wouldn’t normally wear _and_ a brand-new store credit card that they’ll likely never use again.

Zuko doesn’t look lost, but he certainly looks like someone who could afford to fork over some cash.

Sokka takes in his outfit again. This time, he notices the fine stitching on Zuko’s stupid purple demon shirt and the sturdy opaque white of his t-shirt underneath, as well as the carefully distressed wear on his black jeans—with the obvious brand name etched on the button closure that tells him _exactly_ what side of the mall Zuko usually shops on.

If he wants to make the mistake of walking into his store in high-end clothing and run his mouth like a spoiled rich kid, then Sokka is going to do his best to be absolutely, wonderfully _helpful_ in finding everything Zuko may possibly need.

“You know what, _totally_ get it,” he nods, and his abrupt tone shift into cheery charisma makes Zuko glance up in confusion. “Although if you’re here for some new clothes, then I’d of course be happy to set you up with all kinds of goodies we just got in.”

Zuko’s eyes widen, then narrow, and he scowls. “ _No._ ”

Sokka just smiles. “We’ve got some good sales on the jeans today, since that seems to be what you’re looking for. Got any particular styles in mind?”

He pauses, waiting for Zuko to fully turn to glare back at him, then—because he apparently loves to flirt with death, and because he’s already abandoned his retail morals once already—he does a leisurely, approving look down and up with a growing smirk. “Looks like you prefer skinny jeans, yeah?”

Sokka doesn’t explicitly share that he also prefers Zuko in those tight skinny jeans, but he does add: “A _great_ choice, in my opinion.”

Zuko’s mouth drops open in shock. He looks down, then at the jean table where he had been fiddling with the ends of a pair of skinny jeans, and his hand jumps away like the denim had burned him.

Before he’s attacked, Sokka continues. “Granted, our sizes don’t really match up with the brand you’re wearing now—”

He leans forward, enough so that his face is level with Zuko’s, and lightly drags his fingers over the hem Zuko was just touching as his mouth curls into a lascivious smile. “So I guess we’ll just have to find the right size you need _together_ , Zuko.”

“You’re disgusting,” Korra remarks into the walkie, quietly enough to not be overhead yet also with a tiny hint of awe in her voice. Sokka’s smirk accidentally turns a bit more genuine than flirtatious, but it seems to work in his favor because Zuko’s eyes flick down to his mouth and linger there.

Then, surprisingly, incomprehensibly, his hunched shoulders relax. Just for a moment, before they climb right back up to his ears and he bodily turns himself back toward the jeans table.

There’s a bright blush growing on his unscarred cheek.

“ _Fine_ ,” he snaps, and then he’s looking right back at Sokka. His eyes are alight in pure, intoxicating defiance as he says, “but you’re not going to be able to find anything for me here.”

Sokka bares his teeth in a grin. “Challenge accepted, sunshine.”

That pet name does exactly what he was hoping for. The fire in Zuko’s eyes rages, and he purses his lips as he stares Sokka down.

“I’m clocking out for my break, moppet,” Isda declares in his earpiece. “And to go throw up.”

There’s a beat of charged silence, where Zuko seems to be trying to decide on his next move—Sokka almost wishes he’ll try to hit him, because _that_ would be the retail story of the decade—but he settles on waving a hand at the wide stretch of the men’s jean wall. Without looking away, he asks, “how many jean styles do you have?”

Which, okay, that was not what Sokka was expecting to come out of his mouth next, considering all the sulking fury on his face.

“Uhm.” He also hasn’t been asked this question in a minute, so he has to do a quick count in his head. “For men, we have about six main styles and then probably two different styles of pant leg for each one.”

Zuko’s expression doesn’t change. “Alright, then I want to try on all of the styles you have.”

Sokka rears back like he’s been slapped.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You heard me.” Zuko says, and Sokka _hates_ how he sounds a little victorious.

This time, Sokka’s quick sweep down his body is done with far more incredulity. Zuko is wearing a goddamned _fashion_ _harness_ that clips around his thigh. “There’s _no way_ you wear anything but skinny jeans—you look like you’d be allergic to a boot cut or literally any light wash jean—”

Sokka knows he’s fucked up by the way Zuko suddenly perks up. “You have different washes?”

“ _No_.” He’s putting his foot down. “Dude, absolutely not. That like triples the number of jeans. We’re not doing that.”

Zuko smirks, and oh—the internal crisis Sokka suddenly finds himself in, both from being completely fed up by this man and also being _incredibly_ into how good haughty smugness looks on him.

“You said it yourself, Sokka. How am I supposed to know what jeans I’m looking for, since I’ve never shopped here before?”

He can hear muffled laughing, and with all the buzzing in his head he can’t tell if it’s coming from his earpiece or if his horrible associates are actually just being that loud. Zuko stands his ground and waits, forcing painfully steady eye contact the whole time.

Sokka finally gives up with a low screech and a hard drag of a hand over his face.

“ _Fine_ , whatever. I’m capping you at six pairs, and we’ll go from there,” he growls out. He doesn’t think he’s been so blatantly rude to a customer like this ever in his retail life, but Zuko _deserves_ it. “What size are you?”

Zuko’s response is immediate and gleeful. “No clue.”

Sokka chokes on the effort to not vehemently call him the worst fucking asshole he’s ever met. It’s a _very_ close call.

Instead, he clears his throat, inhales deep and exhales hard, and very calmly sets his hand on the jeans table so he can casually clench his fist tight around one of the jean’s pant legs.

“Okay,” he says, “you’re lying. But okay. What’s the size on the pants you’re wearing right now?”

“I don’t remember.”

“There is a _tag_ —” Sokka stops himself, gathers his sanity, and then pulls up his shirt a little so he can gesture to his waistband. Zuko’s eyes fly down to look. “I don’t know where it is on your pants, but usually there’s a tag either in the back—” he has to pull his shirt up a little more as he twists himself around to poke at the back of his pants— “or they can be up front. Ours are stitched inside right next to the button.”

He then demonstrates this by flipping down his waistband to show off where their tag is. He doesn’t think anything of it at first; it’s not the first time he’s had to show customers where they can find their size. But Zuko’s eyes noticeably widen, and his gaze doesn’t move away from Sokka’s waist and the extra bit of hipbone exposed there.

“Uhm.” Zuko flounders, still staring.

His entire face suddenly flames red. 

Oh, Sokka thinks, how _fascinating_.

He lets go of his waistband, but he graciously waits a moment before dropping his shirt, so Zuko has an extra second to admire the sliver of skin on display. His voice is just on the edge of a purr when he asks, “would you like for me to look for you, Zuko?”

“No,” Zuko croaks out, and then forcibly repeats himself as he spins toward the jean wall. “ _No_.”

It’s a wonderful mistake, because now Sokka has a full view of how bright his right cheek and the tip of his ear are.

“I can do it—I know what size I generally wear—”

“Yeah, me too.” Sokka’s grins sharply the face of Zuko’s shock. “You’re only a little shorter than me, so it’s not hard to guess what your pant length is. Also, I’m making you try on some tops. That shirt is not going to work with our looser fits.”

It’s the easiest sales trick to getting a customer to buy more clothes, and not entirely truthful, but Sokka employs the tactic anyway; based off the style of Zuko’s outer shirt, nothing in this store really looks like anything he’d wear—aside, of course, their skinny jeans. But if Zuko wants to be combative like this, then Sokka’s going to make damn sure that he leaves with as many purchases as he can carry.

And, of course, do whatever he can to keep that pretty blush on his cheeks the whole time.

—

Ultimately, the problem is this: Zuko is unfairly, _horribly_ hot.

It’s a thought that’s been on repeat in his head for months now, a factual statement that can’t be denied, yet Sokka is still somehow taken by surprise by how _good_ Zuko looks in anything he tries on.

Like, he somehow makes even _boot cut_ jeans look good. To where Sokka starts to wonder if he should buy a pair, and he _hates_ their boot cut jeans.

The worst part though is that, once they get into a working groove of having him try things on, Zuko’s irritability actually starts to dissipate slightly. He’s not friendly or grinning by any means, but he does start taking Sokka’s suggestions and alternative clothing options without any scorn or a trace of a frown on his face.

He seems…almost playful while he trades lukewarm barbs back and forth with Sokka.

At one point, as Zuko twists and turns to check the fit of the jeans in their three-way mirror, Sokka even forgets that he’s supposed to be annoyed at helping him try on so many clothes.

In fact, he’s kind of almost having _fun_.

Especially since Zuko has kept on the thin white tee Sokka gave him at the start, despite his own shirt being more than satisfactory. Sokka had insisted he switch them out, even purposefully gave him a smaller size just to be obstinate, and he’s now been staring dreamily in rapt concentration at the glide of Zuko’s back muscles under the sheer fabric.

It’s not _necessarily_ a turn on, watching Zuko willingly try on in all these clothes because of his suggestions, but it does make his nerves tingle in the best possible way regardless.

“I’m pretty sure you’re grabbing me the wrong waist size,” Zuko says off-handedly while looking at himself in the mirror. He’s got on their skinniest fit right now, and Sokka had to carefully maneuver himself so that his appreciation couldn’t be seen behind Zuko’s reflection.

This grabs his attention though. “What? No I’m not. You said that was your size, so that’s what I’ve been getting.”

Zuko hums in consideration, and then promptly sends Sokka’s mind spiraling when he lifts his shirt halfway up his stomach to inspect how the waistband sits on his hips.

Oh, he’s muscled _everywhere_.

He pulls on one of the side belt loops to show off the amount of extra space; there’s not a lot of room, but Sokka can see that he could go a size down if he wanted them to fit snugger. Still, Zuko’s attempt to show him this has also given him a peek at the black band of his underwear and—

“You’re kind of a menace,” Sokka says without thinking, momentarily forgetting to tamp down his genuine attraction. Then he jerks, _hard_ , and practically throws himself out the entrance of the fitting room with a hasty, “I’ll get those smaller sizes be right back!”

The highly satisfied, mocking laugh he hears behind him may possibly haunt him for the rest of his life.

—

Zhao ends up coming in to close before they even get to the registers. Sokka has no idea how he’s managed to spend so much of his shift dedicated to only Zuko, and he has a feeling his associates have been trying to work around it so that he could stay with him without interruption, under the guise of simply trying to secure a big sale.

A fact that is immediately proven right by Zhao’s interested voice sounding off in Sokka’s ear as he logs into the sales screen.

“Oh hey, Sokka, this one looks like he’d love to hear about our _perks_.”

Which is code for: this guy has a stack of clothes in his hands, which makes him the perfect target to be set up with a store credit card.

Zhao always phrases it like this, on the off chance that a customer overhears him if the volume on someone’s headset is turned up too high, but in this moment it’s uniquely mortifying for Sokka. He now knows that he’s being watched on the store cameras by his general manager, and he’s fully aware that none of his coworkers have told Zhao about what was really going on this whole time.

Not for any altruistic reasons, of course; this is purely only to have blackmail material at their disposal that can be pulled out whenever necessary in the future.

(Sokka’s admittedly proud of them for it.)

But unfortunately Zhao isn’t wrong. All that time spent together had indeed paid off, because Zuko now has a small pile of Sokka-approved clothes that he’s going to purchase, and Sokka now has to go through the motions of trying to sell him a store card on top of it since he’s being monitored.

Except he doesn’t _want_ to. He had been enjoying the tentative direction their snarky flirting was going, and he doesn’t feel like throwing it off course just because Zhao showed up at the wrong moment.

Thankfully, Zuko ends up making everything easier by continuing to be a complete ass.

“Five cents for a _bag_?” he asks, and his disgust is clear as day.

Sokka pauses in surreptitiously scanning a discount code, and arches a brow. Telling Zuko about the bag charge was an automatic part of his check out speech, and he wasn’t expecting the small outrage at the cost from someone who also worked in the mall.

“Uh, yeah?” he asks in confusion. “It’s that tax all the stores have to do. Why are you so surprised—does _your_ shop not do it?”

Zuko glares, and Sokka’s amused at how much it looks like a pout instead. “I didn’t think employees got it.”

“Zuko, it’s a tax—”

“We give you free samples.”

Sokka’s mouth drops open with a noise of disbelief, and he sets his scanner down without scanning the discount. “I’m sorry, are you trying to _barter_ with me right now? Over five _cents_?”

Zuko’s pout deepens. “No, I’m just stating a fact here.”

“Okay,” Sokka says, then stops, because he needs a second to properly appreciate the sheer _gall_ right now. “Employees also get taxed, so you’re gonna have to pay it—” Zuko audibly huffs, and Sokka ignores him— “ _but_ , if you’re looking for a discount then you could always get one of our store cards, I guess.”

For older customers, he never tacks on that ‘I guess’ when trying to sell the card, since they’ve been shopping long enough in life that any hint of weakness will grant them the chance to shut him down. But Sokka always uses it for anyone his age or younger. He’s learned to treat it like a conversation, a suggestion that can easily be rationalized out, especially once they see how low their total can get after all the offered card discounts.

Naturally, Zuko falls prey to Sokka’s ‘I guess’ too.

He tries to hide it, casting his gaze down at the card machine to conceal that interested gleam in his eye, but his pause is the exact opening Sokka needs to start pushing.

And really, after all the grief Zuko has put him through for practically half of his shift today, Sokka doesn’t feel bad about signing him up for a dumb card—in fact, he’s already _reveling_ at the chance to set him up with high interest rates and an annoying-to-use online card member portal.

_Take that, jerk._

“Yeah, there’s no annual fee, and it comes with an _insane_ amount of discounts every time you decide to use it when shopping here. Personally, I love having mine because I sometimes end up with better sales than my own employee discount gets me, from all the reward coupons you also get.”

Sokka does not have one of their store cards. But he does know intimately the process to opening, using, and closing them that he might as well own one. No one has ever called him on his bluff though, and Zuko certainly isn’t going to either.

Zuko’s gaze starts flicking from Sokka’s face over to the pamphlets conveniently located next to the registers, and he shifts from one foot to the other in contemplation. Sokka cheers him on inside his head—he wants _so badly_ to pull this off so he can gloat—and makes sure his smile is as inviting as possible when he says, “you really can’t go wrong with it. It has like a ton of benefits and basically no downsides to it, bud.”

“What are the other perks?” Zuko asks, and the room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer when he looks up. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be looking at Sokka like that, like they’re talking about something _far_ more interesting than a store card.

“Well,” Sokka swallows, and decides he might as well dive right into the hidden invitation. His grin turns soft as he says, “getting the card means you’ll want to come in more, and then you’ll get to see me.”

“Hm,” Zuko hums, and for a moment he really does look interested—in the card, in the way Sokka’s looking at him, in _Sokka_. But then he reaches into his wallet, pulls out their store’s highest tier card, and sets it down on the counter between them. On the shiny black surface, in faintly worn bronze type, is Iroh’s full name.

With Zuko’s name listed directly underneath, as a joint card owner.

Sokka gasps at the sudden _rage_ that rushes through him.

His eyes snap up to meet Zuko’s, and he scowls at the look of pure achievement he sees there.

He doesn’t attempt to hide the dripping contempt in his voice when he speaks. “Why even waste my time then?”

The sneer doesn’t leave Zuko’s face. He raises his eyebrow. “Because you like wasting mine, apparently.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bolin murmurs a couple of registers down. Sokka is certain Korra and Opal are also somewhere nearby, but even as an undercurrent of shock ripples through the store there’s silence on the radios—everyone knows not to say anything about this on the headset while Zhao is around.

“Why the _fuck_ —you don’t even look like you’d shop here.”

“You guys have good jeans,” Zuko answers with an easy shrug.

“You’re an asshole,” Sokka snarls. He watches the spike of anger crash over Zuko’s face, but nothing comes of it. Instead, he tilts his head back, and his smirk is indulgently triumphant as he stares back through half-lidded eyes in challenge.

Sokka’s heart stutters, and his skin burns from the staggering weight of heady excitement that sparks through him.

“An absolute _bastard_.”

Grabbing a stack of store bags from below, Sokka proceeds to stuff every one of Zuko’s newly purchased items individually into the tiniest bags they have.

“Actually,” he snaps, “make that _seventy-five_ cents.”

—

“Your boyfriend’s kind of a jerk,” Korra says to him later, while ringing someone out. “Although I can’t tell if that was some weird form of foreplay or—”

“Have a good afternoon, sir,” Sokka pointedly says to her shocked customer as he hands over their bags for her, and then shoots her a disgruntled glare. “And he’s _not_ my boyfriend.”

She just laughs as she waves over the next customer. “Sure, okay. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sokka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zukka, looking at each other: i'm gonna be the biggest asshole to him, for fun
> 
> i hope everyone is enjoying this silly fic as much as i'm enjoying writing it! the third chapter should hopefully be out by next week, as i'm trying to get out one more fic for zukka week beforehand!
> 
> (also to explain the bag thing in more detail: some cities have implemented small charges for a store bag in an effort to reduce waste. many customers (like zuko) were _not_ happy when this started in my city lol)
> 
> -  
> if you want, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe) or [tumblr](https://chitsangenthusiast.tumblr.com/)!


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